The Breakfast Serial
by Steph5
Summary: Four different couples, four very different mornings. There’s a reason why it’s considered the most important meal of the day.
1. Default Chapter

The Breakfast Serial

Chapter 1 -- Bacon and Eggs

By Steph

Summary: Four different couples, four very different mornings. There's a reason why it's considered the most important meal of the day.

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own them.

Dedication: Once again, to my PIC for coming up with so many good ideas.

Rating: PG-13

* * *

****

**_Michael_**_: **What comes before anything? What have we always said is the most important thing? **_

**_George Michael_****_: Breakfast._ **

-- Arrested Development

* * *

She woke up starving. She looked at her tiny bedside clock.

Eleven a.m.

They had played a gig last night. Nothing too big; a high schooler's party. They had rocked it though. Rocked it like they hadn't rocked it in a long time. And they had made some money.

She closed her eyes again. She allowed herself to bask in the glory of last night.

Her stomach rumbled, taking precedence over her basking.

It was time to head to the kitchen.

* * *

Being quiet so as not to wake the boys, she started frying up some bacon. To say that her eating habits had changed since she had moved would be an understatement.

"That smells really good," a female voice said startling Lane. The voice, the girl, was on the couch.

She smiled sleepily up at Lane. "Can I have a piece?"

"Who are you?" Lane asked.

The girl sat up on the couch. Her makeup was smeared and her blonde hair was tangled. "Caitlin. Who are you?"

Lane didn't answer, only continued to fix her breakfast. She shouldn't ask, asking would provide her with answers that she didn't really want. But she had to know, had to ask.

She took a deep breath. "Are you…friends with Zack?"

Caitlin giggled. "Zack's hot," she exclaimed and fell back onto the couch. She was asleep again a second later.

* * *

Not wanting to deal with Sleeping Beauty, Lane took her plate of bacon outside. It was still gray and rainy outside, but she didn't care. It kind of fit her mood.

As she began to eat her breakfast, she wondered about Caitlin. Zack hadn't had any of his girlfriends over since she had confessed her feelings for him.

After pondering her confession long enough for her to make a halfhearted retraction, he told her that they should go out.

Which they did. Sort of.

They stayed in the apartment and watched a movie. Which wasn't that different than what they did when they weren't dating.

The only difference was Brian had been banished to her room and Zack had worn pants.

And they had kissed. And except for the fact that Zack was holding on to a slumbering Brian as he kissed her, the kiss was almost exactly how she imagined it.

And then her mother got involved. Her mother had screamed at Zack in a public place, made bizarre religious-themed threats and basically convinced Zack that her daughter was not to be touched or even looked at.

Thank you again, Mama Kim.

She promised Zack that she would straighten things out. But she didn't know what that would necessarily entail. She could yell at poor brainwashed Kyon all she wanted, but it wouldn't do any good.

Kyon wasn't the problem.

And now they were back to square one. Zack hadn't mentioned a second date or treated her any differently than how he used to pre-confession. They were back to being buddies and roommates. It was like the confession, the date and the kiss had all been in her head.

She sighed and ate another piece of bacon.

She looked up when she heard the front door open behind her.

"Hey," Zack called. "Why are you eating outside?"

"Felt like it," she said.

"Oh." He walked out and sat down beside her.

"When did we buy bacon?" he asked her.

"I bought some yesterday. It was on sale. We can afford it."

"Okay," he said. He snatched a piece off her plate.

"Hey!" she exclaimed. "There's some left in the kitchen you can make. Don't take mine."

"I'm hungry," he told her.

"Well, so am I."

"You still have a ton on your plate," he said. "It's not the end of the world that I took one piece."

"It just bothers me when people take things off my plate. It's not very hygienic."

"You've never had a problem with me doing it before," he muttered. "What's wrong with you anyway? We rocked hard last night and we made some decent money for a change. You should be happy."

"Happy?" she asked. "Let me ask you something. Who's the blonde on the couch?"

"There's a blonde on our couch?" he asked sounding interested.

Lane frowned at his interest trying to quell the quick flash of jealousy. "Yes. Caitlin. And she thinks you're hot."

"She's not with me. I don't know any blondes named Caitlin."

"Maybe she didn't tell you her name last night. Or maybe," she said feeling nasty, "she told you her name last night and you didn't care enough to remember it."

"Lane," Zack said patiently, "if I had a girl spend the night, she would not be waking up on the couch."

What was wrong with her? Had her newfound independence messed with her mind? Was it that she just missed Dave so much that she decided to fall for the first guy she saw? Zack wasn't a nice guy. Zack was a man-whore.

She needed to take a shower to get the stench of her ill-fated crush off of her. She stood up.

"I really don't know who she is," he said. "And besides, I wouldn't have someone over. Not now."

She sat back down. "Yeah? Why not now?"

"Well if we are…you know…dating, I'm not going to …uh…be interested in groupies."

"I didn't realize that we were still dating," she said. "I mean after my mom talked to you, I thought we were back to just hanging out like before."

"Listen, Lane, your mom is a psycho. No offense."

"None taken."

"Your mom is a psycho and getting screamed at in public…not cool."

"I agree."

He took another piece of bacon from her plate. This time she didn't object.

"I wonder," he began, "if Brian knows who the girl is."

He had changed the subject. She went along with it. "You think Brian brought her back here? Our Brian?"

"Someone has to know why she's here," he said. "I'm waking him up."

"Okay," she said.

He came back a few minutes later. "Caitlin is the sister of Brian's best friend. I guess she was at the party last night and needed a place to crash."

"How nice of Brian," she remarked sarcastically. "I wonder why he's suddenly feeling so charitable."

"He's not touching her. She's jailbait. Fifteen."

"Wow," Lane said. "I didn't look like that at fifteen."

"You don't look like that now."

"Thanks a lot," she said, feeling a little hurt.

He seemed to pick up on it. "I mean you're hot, but not in an in-your-face look-at-me-now kind of a way."

She was still a little confused. "That's a good thing, right?"

She thought it was a good thing. After all, he had called her hot.

No one had ever called her hot before.

"Yeah," he said.

"I thought you liked the in-your-face look-at-me-now kind of thing. I mean, seriously, Caitlin doesn't look all that different from what your groupies looked like."

"I've changed Lane," he said seriously. "Matured."

"Right," she said echoing his tone.

A second later, she turned to him and said softly, "I thought for sure that my mother had completely scared you off."

"She's a very frightening woman. And I am not known for getting along with parents even under the best of circumstances."

"Right," she said.

"However," he said. "If you are willing to date someone your mother hates…"

"I am," she said quickly.

"And she may come around," he said, although not sounding too hopeful. "I mean she ended up liking Dave, didn't she?"

"She ended up hating him less," Lane said. "She still hated him a little. She hates all boys."

"But Dave did everything," Zack said. "He played music for your family, ate tofu and tofu-related products... I'm not going to do that."

"Look," Lane said. "She's going to hate you know matter what you do. So I wouldn't worry about what Dave did."

"What I was going to say was if you are willing to date someone your mother hates, maybe we can try the dating thing again."

She smiled. "I'd like that. Maybe we can go somewhere this time."

"Sounds good," he said. "Are you free tomorrow night?"

"I believe I am."

"My uncle owns a Chicken Hut. He'll give us a discount."

"I can't wait," she said.

"Good." He squeezed her hand. "I'm still hungry. I'm going to fry up whatever's left of the bacon."

"Okay."

She remained on the step. She had a date tomorrow night. A real date.

She had no idea what a Chicken Hut was, but figured it was casual. Still maybe she should go to the mall and find something to wear.

The door opened again. "Hey," Zack said. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"Caitlin is making us breakfast."

"What?"

"She said she felt bad about crashing here last night so she scrambled us up some eggs."

"I didn't know we had eggs."

"Neither did I. But it smells good in there."

"Okay," Lane said. She followed Zack into the kitchen. Caitlin and Brian were already eating.

Lane snuck a quick glance at Zack.

Life was good.

* * *

To be continued…


	2. Doughnuts

The Breakfast Serial

Chapter 2 -- Doughnuts

By Steph

Summary: Four different couples, four very different mornings. There's a reason why it's considered the most important meal of the day.

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own them.

Rating: PG-13

* * *

There was almost nothing in his refrigerator, he realized.

A jar of salsa and some mayonnaise. Some white rice leftovers from takeout Chinese.

No bread, no milk, no cheese, no eggs. No breakfast foods.

This wasn't good.

It had been awhile since he had had someone sleep over, but he did remember that if you had an overnight guest, you should probably offer her breakfast.

In his defense, he hadn't really planned this.

They had never dated, never even kissed before last night.

He had never slept with someone without dating them first.

Going through his cupboard, he found a box of powdered mini-doughnuts. He didn't even remember buying them. Not a good sign. He opened the box and tried one. Slightly stale, but not inedible.

He had no coffee, no tea. Looking in the freezer, he found that he had frozen orange juice concentrate. Which he also didn't remember buying.

He found a pitcher and began to make the orange juice.

His mind wandered as he pondered last night. They had slept together.

Were they dating now? Were they going to sleep together again? Were they going to forget it ever happened?

He thought of them last night. Thought of her.

No way he was going to be forgetting that any time soon.

He looked down at the juice, which he had somehow messed up. Deep in thought, he had screwed up the proportions and was now looking at a pale, watery looking juice. It didn't look appetizing.

But it was all he could offer her.

* * *

He guessed that it all started last night.

No, that wasn't completely accurate. God, he had known her for probably twenty years. Which was kind of scary.

They both lived in the same small town. Of course they ran into each other. Talked occasionally.

She helped him out at the charity book sales every once in awhile. He trusted her with his car when it acted up.

Sometimes they sat by each other at the town meetings. She was entertaining to sit next to, because she wasn't afraid to tell people (and by people he meant Taylor) what she thought.

Occasionally she read his private mail though. And she told people what was in his private letters.

He wasn't quite as entertained by that.

The fender bender last week was what changed everything. There was no question that it was her fault and fortunately the town agreed with him. She was pissed.

She wouldn't even look at him after the town meeting so he came by the next day with an estimate from an out-of-town mechanic. "This is what you owe me," he told her.

She took the paper from him, rolling her eyes. "First of all, it's crap that I owe you anything when it was your fault. Second, they're overcharging you. Or I should say, they're overcharging me. I'll fix it myself and it'll be much cheaper."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he said.

"When did they tell you your car would be ready?" she asked.

"Saturday."

"I'll have it for you by Friday. And I'll throw in an oil change for free. This way we both win."

Well, he did need an oil change. He agreed.

"It looks good as new," he said to her Friday night.

"Of course it does," she said. "Why wouldn't it?"

"No reason," he said. He walked around the car giving it a final inspection.

"Okay then," she said. "Well, I appreciate your business and I hope you'll come to me when you have your next fender bender."

"Funny," he said.

They both looked up at the sky when they heard thunder. "I think it's going to rain," he told her.

"You are a quick one," she said. "Drive carefully."

"You too," he told her as he zipped up his jacket.

"I'm walking," she corrected him. "I'm still in the process of working on my car."

"Oh," he said. Then he decided to be a gentleman. "Want a ride home?"

"No thanks," she said.

He looked at her like she was crazy. The sky was really starting to darken. He bet it would be pouring in minutes. "Why not? Got a hot date?"

He had no idea why he had said that. And going by the odd look she was giving him, she was pretty surprised by that out-of-nowhere comment as well.

"No," she finally said, after a minute of silence.

"Why not then?"

"I tampered with your brakes."

He waited for the smirk or the grin from her to show that she was kidding.

There was none. She watched him evenly, neutrally.

He was pretty sure that she was kidding.

She was kidding, wasn't she? She continued to watch him.

He didn't really have time for this and he was starting to get cold. "You're kidding, right?"

"About what? Your brakes? Yes, I'm kidding. I'm not homicidal. Where would you get that idea?"

He shrugged and replied honestly. "Sometimes you scare me."

She grinned at that. She _would_ take that as a compliment. "Good to know. Maybe I can use it to my advantage."

"Your advantage for what?" he asked her warily.

She watched him, considering, and then walked over to him and very lightly, very quickly kissed him, before stepping away.

It started drizzling, but he still didn't move. He just stared at her, trying to work his mind around what had just happened.

"Look," she said after seeing the expression on his face. "I shouldn't have done that. It was stupid and I'm sorry."

He met her eyes for a second before making a decision. He closed the distance between them and kissed her.

* * *

She decided to take him up on his offer for a ride home. Which was good, because it had really started pouring.

The rain was making it hard for him to see and she had her hand on his leg which was really distracting him. He ended up missing her street.

"Sorry about that," he said. "I'm going to have to turn around."

"You could," she said. "Or we can just go to your place."

Yeah, that would work too.

* * *

He was still stirring the orange juice when she walked into the kitchen.

"Morning," she said, yawning. "It's still raining, huh?"

"Yeah," he told her.

"I guess I get the day off then," she said. "I'm glad I finished your car yesterday."

"It'll be busy at the bookstore," he told her. "People always want new books and magazines on rainy weekends."

"Oh," she said. "I can leave now if you want me to. If you need to get to work."

"No," he said. "I'm not leaving yet."

He placed two glasses of the sickly-looking orange juice on the table, followed by a plate full of the mini-doughnuts.

"Sorry about breakfast," he told her.

"Don't be," she said. "I like doughnuts. And juice is good too."

He watched her as she took a bite of a doughnut. "What?" she asked him. "Did you poison it or something?"

"No," he said.

She took a sip of juice and choked on it. "Wow," she said, making a face. "That's really bad."

"Yeah, I was worried about that," he admitted. "I have water if you want that instead."

"Sure, thanks."

They ate their breakfast of slightly stale doughnuts and water in silence. And this, he thought to himself, was where things would get uncomfortable.

"Do I really scare you?" she asked him, interrupting his thoughts. She was smiling, but there was something unsure in her gaze.

"Sometimes," he said. "But in a good way."

"Sure," she said. "In a good way." She stood up. "I'm going to get going. You don't have to drive me home. I know you have to open the bookstore and I have no problem walking. Thanks for breakfast."

"I still have awhile before I was going to open the store. I'll drive you."

* * *

She wasn't happy. He could tell. She was looking out the window the entire ride home. He must have said something to upset her.

Was it when he said that she scared him? She seemed tickled when he said it last night. Why was she bothered by it this morning? What had happened between last night and this morning?

That was a stupid question. They had slept together. That's what had happened.

"Well," she said when they reached her place. "Thanks for last night. It was fun." She unlocked her car door.

He should do something, say something.

"Wait," he said. "The thing about scaring me…I meant it when I said in a good way. Sometimes it's good to be scared."

"Uh huh," she said disbelievingly. "Tell me another one."

He didn't. Instead he leaned toward her and kissed her. A second passed before she responded and kissed him back. When they broke away, she smiled at him. She looked nervous. He probably had the same expression on his face.

"Would you like to go out sometime?" he asked her, suddenly feeling insecure. "I know I'm doing this really out of order, but…"

"Okay," she said sounding relieved. "Sure."

"Good," he said nodding. "I'll come by later and we'll talk then. Okay?"

"I should tell you there is one condition."

"Yeah?" he asked. "What's that?"

"Next time," she said, "we're going out to breakfast."

To be continued....


	3. Waffles

The Breakfast Serial

Chapter 3 -- Waffles

By Steph

Summary: Four different couples, four very different mornings. There's a reason why it's considered the most important meal of the day.

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own them.

Rating: PG-13

Quick A/N: Yep, last chapter was about Gypsy and Andrew.

* * *

She watched her husband sleep.

Between his regular job and his new additional Town Selectman duties, he had been completely exhausted lately. When he had decided to take the day off for his birthday, to forget about the pestering town and the problematic crops, she had figured he would spend the morning catching up on his sleep.

That was more than fine with her. They would celebrate tonight at a fancy restaurant. And Davey was at his grandparents' which meant they had the whole day alone together.

Something they hadn't had in a long time.

She listened to the rain bounce off the windows. She had taken the day off too and knew it would be a perfect day for mugs of hot chocolate, thick novels and movie marathons.

He snored softly, bundled up under blankets. He looked so peaceful. Yes, she thought affectionately, she could definitely watch the birthday boy sleep all day.

Unfortunately, she was bleeding and needed him to drive her to the ER.

It was not the best way to start a birthday.

* * *

"St. James," she told the bored-looking woman at the admitting desk. "You must be new."

She sat down next to her husband. "I'm sorry," she said for the tenth time.

"Don't be," he said.

"You can go home and sleep. I can take a cab home or call somebody."

He shook his head. "I'm not going home."

"I was making waffles for you," she told him, feeling the need to explain. "And I was cutting fruit, because you brought such nice-looking fruit home yesterday and…I don't know. I've been so good about not hurting myself lately."

"You're right," he said thoughtfully. "We haven't been here in awhile."

"I was really starting to miss this place," she joked.

He didn't smile. "I wasn't."

"I know," she said. "I was joking."

"Oh," he said. "Sorry. Not quite awake yet."

"And this was your one day to sleep," she said, shaking her head. "And your birthday too."

"I'm just glad I was home to take you here," he said.

"I could have called someone else if you were away at work," she told him. Then she realized that she sounded unappreciative, which she wasn't. "I prefer your company of course though."

"What if I wasn't home? What if you had been seriously injured?"

"By cutting my hand? It definitely hurts, but I've had dozens of injuries worse than this."

"I know," he said. "And that's what worries me. I don't like you going to the hospital all the time."

"Well, I certainly don't like going to the hospital all the time. But like I said, I have been doing better."

"I know," he said. "I just hate the idea of me not being able to help you if you needed me."

"If you hadn't been here and I hadn't been able to round up a friend to drive me to the ER, I would have just called the paramedics and ridden in the ambulance."

"Yeah," he said. "And we all know how much that costs."

At her surprised silence, he backtracked. "That sounded horrible and it came out wrong. I'm sorry. Obviously if you need an ambulance, you need an ambulance. It's just…I've just been thinking about money lately."

"I know you have been," she said. "Me too."

"We're already working less hours because of the baby," he said. He closed his eyes.

"But that's what happens when people have children, they cut back their hours. And the greenhouse is a success; I know it's been adding a lot of business."

"It is," he admitted. "And it would make even more of a profit if I had time to work on it. But I don't. I'm doing my civic duty for this stupid town and don't have any time left to make a profit." He took a deep breath. "Sorry. We shouldn't be talking about this now. You're in pain."

"It's okay."

"I worry about you," he said softly.

She knew. And she loved him for it.

"And I tend to worry about money."

She knew that as well. When she told him she was pregnant, he nearly had an aneurysm when he figured out how much raising a child would cost.

"It's going to be okay," she told him in what she hoped was a low, soothing voice. "When we get home, well maybe not right when we get home because I'll be sore and it's still your birthday and we should be celebrating and not fretting…, but sometime soon we'll look again at our finances and see if we can shift things around a bit. People have been in far worse situations than we're in and come out okay."

"I hate this stupid Selectman position," he said bitterly. "I never see you and I never see Davey and it takes me away from my job. And what do I…what do we get out of it? Nothing."

"Quit," she told him. "No one would blame you."

"I'm considering it," he said seriously. "I don't think I'm cut out for politics."

"You're a great Selectman. It's just not the right job for you right now," she told him. "And that's okay."

He still looked tense. He began tapping his foot in an agitated rhythm.

"Hey," she said. "If I promise to be even more careful in the future, will you promise not to worry so much? Or at least promise to relax a little and enjoy today? We both have it off and it's still your birthday."

"I'll try."

"Good," she said. "I'll try too."

* * *

"Every time that I have to get some kind of painkiller, I'm afraid it won't work," she told him as they walked out into the parking lot. "I'm afraid that they'll discover I've built up a tolerance." She giggled and waved her bandaged hand in her husband's face. "But not this time. Cause baby, I'm feeling no pain."

"Have you had anything to eat today?"

She thought about it. "I had some coffee. Maybe I took a piece or two of fruit before I slashed myself. I was waiting so I could eat waffles with you. What time is it now?"

"Eleven," he said as he turned on the windshield wipers.

"Eleven? And you haven't had anything? You must be starving. You know, I must be starving too."

As he drove, she looked out of the window for possible breakfast destinations. "There's a Denny's. Past the stoplight."

"I thought we didn't do Denny's."

"Well, usually we are huge food snobs, but since we're both starving, we should make an exception." She lifted her hand up again. "I don't think I'm doing much cooking today."

"You're not doing much of anything today," he said as he pulled into a parking space. "In fact, we don't have to go out tonight."

"Of course we're going out tonight," she said. "It's still your birthday and we're still going to celebrate."

"If you're sure," he said.

"I am," she said. "Now let's go to Denny's."

* * *

Food snob that she was, she hadn't been inside a Denny's in years. It was exactly as she had remembered with screaming children and sticky tables.

"These aren't too bad," he said sounding surprised, after taking a bite of the waffles he had ordered. "Yours are so much better though."

She didn't respond. She was too busy concentrating on the waffles on her own plate. She realized only after the fact that she should have ordered something like oatmeal. Something that would be easy to eat. Something that wasn't impossible to cut.

She looked up to see his concerned eyes on her. "I can't cut this. I'm going to flag down the waitress and order something else."

"Let me see," he said.

She watched as he took the plate from her and cut her breakfast into tiny bite-sized pieces. When he was finished, he fed her the piece left on her fork.

She watched her husband eat and she realized something. As they made small talk about their friends, their son, she realized that her husband seemed more relaxed and happier than he had in a long time.

She took another clumsy bite of her waffle and laughed at some stupid joke he made.

She had to admit that Denny's wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

"So do you want your present now or tonight when we go out?" she asked.

They were in the bedroom and she stared longingly at the still unmade bed. She suddenly felt exhausted.

"Tonight's fine," he said. "Why don't you take a nap?"

"Okay," she said. "Join me?"

"Sure," he said. "God, I'm still tired."

They got into bed and he pulled the covers over them. She closed her eyes and listened to the rain.

"I'm going to quit," he whispered. "I don't want to be Town Selectman anymore."

She opened her eyes and turned to him. "Maybe you'll be happier."

"I know I'll be."

"My hand hurts," she said.

"I can go to the pharmacy for you."

"Not now," she said, feeling guilty. "Relax. Sleep."

"Okay," he said.

"The ER, Denny's and a nap," she said. "This probably wasn't your best birthday ever."

"I'm not complaining," he said.

"So I didn't ruin your birthday?" she asked.

"Not even close," he said and pulled her closer.

To be continued…


	4. Oatmeal

**The Breakfast Serial**

**Chapter 4 -- Oatmeal**

**By Steph **

Summary: Four different couples, four very different mornings. There's a reason why it's considered the most important meal of the day.

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own them.

Rating: PG-13

* * *

It was just like any other day in the small, airless beauty supply store, the least favorite of his many places of employment.

There were only a few people in the store. Teenage girls giggling over makeup samples and hair products.

He occupied himself by removing the old nail polish from a mannequin hand. When he realized that it had only taken three minutes to do that, he began repainting the hand with purple nail polish to pass time. He always liked purple.

The door opened. He looked up from his art project to see his girlfriend.

"Look everyone," he said to the mostly empty store. "It's my girlfriend."

The two girls looked up at him and giggled.

"Hi," Lulu said. "I brought you a sandwich."

"You did?" he asked excitedly.

"Yep. Ham and cheese. Cut into stars."

"Thank you," he said. A redheaded woman entered the store. "My girlfriend," he said to her loudly, "has brought me a sandwich."

"Fascinating," the woman said sarcastically, before going down aisle two. The hair dye aisle. He wasn't surprised. The red hair looked extremely unnatural. Perhaps he should tell her. Steer her toward another color.

"Are you doing anything after work?" Lulu asked him.

"No. I mean there's a town meeting tonight, but that's not till later."

"Will you come by? I want to talk to you."

That sounded serious. "Okay," he said. "What about?"

"I don't want to talk about it here. I'll see you later."

He nodded. What did that mean? Was she dumping him? He supposed she was. Perhaps the novelty of dating him had worn off. Perhaps she had found someone more suitable to date. It was inevitable.

"There goes my girlfriend," he said to the still giggling teenagers.

They didn't even look up.

* * *

One time he had attempted to tell Lulu that he loved her. It, unsurprisingly, did not go as planned.

He wanted to do something grand and romantic. Skywriting. A room filled with red roses.

Unfortunately he couldn't afford a professional skywriter and he didn't think he could teach himself to fly a plane.

And he was allergic to most flowers, roses in particular.

One late afternoon he stopped into Doose's and bought a bag of chocolate-covered Oreos. He had brought them initially because he was hungry, but inspiration struck. Lulu loved Oreos.

Waiting for her at her apartment, he carefully spelled out I LOVE YOU. She'd love it.

When she came home, he stood by his creation, proud, waiting for her reaction.

She grinned at him, a huge, happy smile and he smiled at her obvious happiness. Maybe she loved him too.

"It was so busy at work today," she said. "I didn't even get off for lunch. I haven't eaten since eight and now I see that you've brought Oreos. I'm starving."

And then to his astonishment, she took an Oreo. Part of the "I." And then she took part of the "L." And then a section of the "Y." It was painful to watch.

"God," she said. "I can eat all of these, but I'll only make myself sick. Want to go out to dinner?"

"Sure," he said weakly. "Let's stop at my mom's so I can pick up a warmer jacket."

"Great," she said. Then she scooped what was left of his declaration of love and put it into the cookie jar. "I don't want to get ants," she explained.

He just nodded pitifully.

* * *

Later that night, he had gotten up the courage to try again.

They were watching Adult Swim and in between _Harvey Birdman_ and _Sealab_, he said, "I love you." Afraid of her response, he didn't take his eyes off the television.

She didn't say anything. A minute passed and, concerned, he turned to her.

She was asleep.

* * *

That's probably what he regretted the most, he thought to himself as he walked over to her place.

That he had never told her he loved her.

And now she was breaking up with him.

His mom was right. He'd never be able to keep a girl like Lulu.

Feeling dejected, he knocked on her door. She didn't waste time on niceties.

"I was talking to some friends of yours," she said seriously. "People from the town."

He could only imagine what they had told her, what they had called him.

Loser. Freak. Stunted man-child who still lived with his mother.

"You were?" he asked, his voice cracking uncomfortably.

"Yes," she said. "How come…how come you never showed me your movie?"

"My what?"

"Your movie. I was talking to Patty and Babette and they told me that you had made a movie that you showed everyone in town. How come you never showed me? I want to see it."

He didn't know what to say. He had been so proud of his movie, his masterpiece. He had worked so hard on it, spend too much money and time on it, and had thought that this would be his ticket to being something special. He could leave his seventeen jobs and move out of his mother's house and become a full-time auteur.

He had been so excited about his film showing and so miserable after.

His film hadn't received the accolades he had been hoping for. There had been stunned silence after the short film had ended followed by too-polite applause. It was embarrassing.

And afterward when people saw him they laughed, made reference to his "mad dancing skills" (always said sarcastically, he knew); they parroted, mocked the dialogue.

He remembered when he was nine years old, his mother had given him a particularly unflattering hair cut. He had been pantsed every day after school.

It was a very similar feeling.

He didn't show her his film because he was afraid that she would mock him too.

He didn't show her his film because he loved her.

And he still hadn't told her.

* * *

But he also couldn't tell her no.

The next morning he walked to her apartment, the tape hidden under his shirt, protected from the rain.

"I made oatmeal," she told him. "It's on the stove. With extra bananas, just like you like."

"It smells really good," he said.

"I'll reheat it in a little bit. Now let's watch," she said excitedly. "Sit down."

"What did…what did Patty and Babette tell you about it?" he asked nervously.

"Nothing," she said. "They told me that I had never seen anything like it and they said it was original and that I was in for a real surprise."

"Maybe this isn't a good idea," he protested. "I don't know if I should be showing you this."

"I still don't understand."

"I just don't want you to pants me."

She turned to him, a mischievous look in her eyes. "You don't? Since when?"

"I don't want you to see me the way the rest of the town sees me," he said firmly.

"I don't," she said. "And you know that. Come on. It's showtime. Get under the blanket."

He obliged putting his legs under the thick, blue blanket. She put the film in her VCR and together, silently, they watched.

Or rather she watched. He couldn't. He also couldn't watch her watching it. So he looked up at her ceiling and counted the cracks. When he was bored counting, he closed his eyes and inhaled the cinnamon-y smell of the oatmeal. He loved the way Lulu made oatmeal. He listened to the rain outside. He probably should have brought an umbrella.

Part of him was dying to see how she was reacting to the scene where he was dancing. But he made himself keep his eyes shut.

It was all about the self-discipline.

When he heard nothing but the static-y sound, notifying him the film was over, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. She was still watching the screen, her mouth open. He steeled himself for her mockery, which he assumed was forthcoming.

"So," he said softly. "That was the movie. What did you think?"

She burst out laughing.

Damn, he thought to himself. That wasn't good. He waited for an insult.

"Kirk," she said, when she finally caught her breath. "That was the funniest thing I've ever seen. It was brilliant. You're like Woody Allen. I loved it. You're so talented."

That he was not expecting. In fact, her compliments were so unexpected that he didn't think to tell her the same thing he told everybody in town who had laughed at him after the movie showing.

His masterpiece was not supposed to be a comedy.

"I loved it," she said, snuggling closer to him. "Tell me why you were so afraid to show me that?"

He took a deep breath. "Because I love you."

She looked at him again, before leaning in and kissing him. "I love you too."

"Really?" he asked, because it was one thing to say it, quite another to have her say it back.

That he was not expecting.

"Yes," she said. She kissed him again. "Now, let's eat."

The end


End file.
